


It Hurts to Become (I carried that hurt on the tip of my tongue)

by tclp



Series: Forget About the Sky [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Blood, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tclp/pseuds/tclp
Summary: New Year's Eve is a lonely business.  Hux expects to fill the night with punk music and the anonymity of a crowd, but life dashes his plans and hits him in the face.Fill for the meet-ugly prompt: "I broke your nose at a mosh pit".





	It Hurts to Become (I carried that hurt on the tip of my tongue)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to oorsprong for the beta and much needed encouragements! <3
> 
> See end notes for detailed warnings.

 

> I said to the sun, "tell me about the Big Bang"  
>  the sun said, "it hurts to become."  
>  I carried that hurt on the tip of my tongue  
>  and whisper "bless your heart" every chance I get  
>  so my family tree can be sure I have not left  
>  you do not have to leave to arrive, I am learning this slowly

\- Andrea Gibson, _I Sing the Body Electric, Especially When My Power’s Out_

 

_~_

 

The pain takes him by surprise: sharp and instantaneous. It radiates across his cheeks and forehead, so that Hux can't tell where it originates. Then, he feels the warm, sluggish drip fo blood on his lips.

"Shit! Shit, sorry, man!"

Hux blinks, dazed from the pain but also because he's been yanked out of the daze he'd finally reached. The crowd keeps heaving and pulsing around him, almost as loud as the band even this close to the stage.

Someone is pressing a scarf to his nose. Pain shoots up at the clumsy touch.

"Get off." Hux flinches when the simple movements required to speak pull at his nose, causing aftershocks.

"Come on," the same person shouts by Hux's ear so they can be heard over the music. A warm breath puffs against Hux's neck and is gone just as quickly.

Hux lets himself be dragged away. He's blinking tears from his eyes. It's only once he's safely in the washroom that he realises no one so much as jostled him as they made their way to the back of the bar.

He hadn't expected to spend any part of his night here. The pain, the blood and the unforgiving light of the washroom's neons are an all too familiar combination. At least he can't make out the smell of industrial cleaners.

Hux inhales, slow and steady through his grit teeth. Counts to four, holds, and exhales.

He's fine.

There's a red spot light in the corner, casting concert posters and tacked adds in a soft glow. He feels the bass reverberating through the chipped floor tiles. He hears the drip of a faucet. He hears—

Someone is talking to him.

"—should be clean. Will you… Do you want?"

Hux looks away from the red light, dizzy. He blinks away it's blinding imprints, needing a moment to focus.

The man who hit him in the mosh pit makes abortive movements, as if unsure if he should put the wad of toilet paper he's holding to Hux's nose himself, or hand it over.

"Thanks." Hux tosses away the tacky scarf.

"Sorry."

"Uh, huh." Hux watches the guy take a hasty step backwards now that Hux has grabbed the toilet paper. It's as if he thinks he'll scare Hux. Like Hux can be intimidated so easily. He's not so weak as people assume, not—.

"If it doesn't stop bleeding, it might be broken."

"I know," Hux sighs, sags back against the counter.

A song ends. Through the thin walls, Hux hears cheering, muffled words from the lead singer and music picks back up.

They wait in silence and Hux is too busy keeping his mind blank to ask the guy why he's still hanging around. Not that he's eager to be alone. The concert seemed the perfect place for company without having to talk to anyone. In a way, this is what he came here for. Well, minus the nosebleed.

Another song ends. A few people come and go from the washroom.

Hux flinches away from the door when it bangs open, closely missing his elbow as he holds a new bunch of paper to his nose.

The guy comes to stand by the door in Hux's spot, wordlessly motioning for Hux to take his place at the other end of the counter, by the window. The air is cooler, there. It feels easier to breathe. Hux leans his head against the wall and lets his eyes drift shut.

He's glad to be sober.

By the time the first band of the evening finish their set, Hux's nose is still bleeding. The mirror shows him shadows of bruises forming across his nose and under his eyes.

 

 

 

The guy insists on going to the hospital with him.

"I'm Kylo. By the way."

"Hux."

The cabbie shoots them a glance in the rearview mirror, but keeps his mouth shut.

They must look an odd pair; both with blood on their hands, Hux's swollen nose and a commercial roll of toilet paper in his lap—he doesn't know how Kylo got it from the locked dispenser—and Kylo who's apparently imposing enough to part crowds during a punk concert, yet plasters himself against the cab door, leaving as much space between them as possible.

By the time they arrive at the hospital, Hux is lightheaded and has trouble detaching himself from the seat.

Kylo dumps Hux's lapful of soiled paper into a dustbin. He guides Hux out of the cab: a gentle hand on his elbow and the other hovering over Hux's head so he doesn't bump it on the doorframe.

Despite it being New Year's Eve, Hux is seen rather quickly.

The doctor shines a light in his ears, his eyes, his nose, and asks questions like he already knows the answers.

Hux fights the reflex to squint against the light, to shrug off the doctor's hand. He stays as still as possible; there's no point in scooting away from the man before the examination is over.

"What happened?"

Hux shrugs; he can't say much while the doctor uses a tongue depressor.

"Think I broke his nose. We were in a mosh. I didn't see him, and I—" Kylo breaks off, shrugs too. He's folded himself in half, sitting on a wobbly stool in the corner of the exam room.

The doctor turns back to Hux after assessing Kylo. "I should examine you in private."

From the corner of his eye, Hux sees Kylo angry for the first time. The change in his demeanour is subtle, but Hux feels the change in the room like the air pressure spiking, a sudden weight pushing against his entire body.

Kylo glares at the doctor's back. His fists pressed into his thighs and nails digging into the skin exposed by the rips in his black jeans.

"No. That's not necessary," Hux says.

The doctor looks unconvinced.

Hux wonders where this display of suspicion and professionalism was when he was five years old. When he was being examined for a broken collarbone and a hand-shaped bruise on his cheek.

It's not concern for Hux prompting these questions. It's unfounded judgement of Kylo. Just like it was unfounded deference to a military officer's authority staying doctors, nurses and teachers' questions twenty-four years ago.

Of course it isn't actually about Hux.

"It's like he told you: an accident," Hux says, letting an edge creep into his voice. "If I want him gone, I'll tell him myself." Hux looks at Kylo when he says the last part.

 

 

 

Hux dozes. His head rests uncomfortably against the stiff headrest of the examination table. Paper crinkles under him at the slightest movement, jerking him awake.

The doctor has left and they're waiting for his discharge papers and prescriptions.

They both look to the door when cheers go up in the hallway; it's the countdown to the new year.

"Happy New Year," Kylo says.

"Yeah, right." It's a trite sentiment. Hux has more than enough of those at the apartment.

He pokes at the melting disposable ice pack with fingers gone numb from the cold. He should ask Kylo to put it in the bin.

Hux rolls his head to look over at Kylo who's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looks as exhausted as Hux feels, and the way he's precariously perched on that stool worries Hux a bit.

Kylo stares at the door, seemingly focused on the people celebrating on the other side. For the first time, Hux wonders if Kylo has some place he's rather be. If he left someone, friends perhaps, at the bar. If he has plans to meet with family for brunch in the morning.

The way Kylo stares at the door, sad and resigned, Hux thinks not.

"Thank you. For sticking around."

"I fucked up."

"Obviously," Hux says to wipe that pitiful look off Kylo's face. "But I'm fine now, so if you're done assuaging your conscience, feel free to go."

"I want to be here. If I didn't, I'd leave. _Myself_ ," Kylo says in a passable imitation of Hux's accent.

Then he smiles at Hux. It's small: just a crook at the corner of his wide mouth.

But Hux huffs, almost a laugh. It's unexpected. It's more than Hux thought he'd get tonight.

 

 

 

The nurse who brings Hux's discharge papers in a brown envelope offers them candy canes, _Christmas leftovers_. Kylo seems excited, like it's not just a five cents candy. Hux wonders if he has a sweet tooth, or if it's something about the candy canes.

Outside, the humid air pierces through Hux's threadbare clothes. He's missing a layer, too, having binned the unsalvageable blood-stained sweater. It was his last remaining piece of clothing from the Academy. He thought he'd outgrow it before he wore through it. Technically, neither happened.

Hux idles on the sidewalk, unsure, and unwilling to part with Kylo yet. He feels like there's something he meant to say or do, but it eludes him, the words lurking just out of reach.

Across the street, two elderly men walk by, huddled close. The one with long braids kisses the other's temple, guiding him to a parked car.

"Do you have somewhere to be?"

Not, _do you have somewhere to go?_. Hux appreciates that.

"No. My only plan was the concert."

Kylo steps closer, just within arm's reach. It's the closest he's been aside from helping Hux out of the cab and guiding him safely away from the mosh pit.

"My place is… It's not far."

Hux wants to say yes, but distrusts his eagerness. He stares at Kylo for a few measured breaths. In and out, twin sets of clouds puff and dissipate between them.

Kylo doesn't register as a threat—not a threat _to Hux_ , that is—despite the broken nose. And that was from an accident. There's no telling what he could do on purpose. And yet…

In the end, Hux can't stand the thought of going back to what awaits at the apartment.

"Lead the way."

 

 

 

Kylo's place is not what Hux expected.

From the outside, it looks like a remodelled warehouse, but there are several luxury cars parked off to the side—Mercedes. BMW. A fucking Rolls-Royce Phantom—and a security guard at the gate who nods at Kylo with a quiet _Happy New Year, sir_ , as they walk by.

Hux is on edge.

Kylo has stayed close as they walked from the hospital. But now, in the lift, the proximity is oppressive. Hux had been so sure he knew what to make of Kylo, had all the relevant pieces figured out. He could do without the stabbing reminder of his overconfidence.

Next to him, Kylo fidgets and Hux can sense the previous day's tension crawling down his neck to his shoulders and back. Instinctively, he's bracing himself against something. Against whatever it is Kylo wants with him.

The lift dings and Kylo walks out.

Hux should go home. This was a mistake.

Kylo faces the only door in the hallway, his back to Hux. His keys are out, but he's making no move to unlock.

"It's not much."

"The building has a security fence. You live in a penthouse," Hux says, unable and unwilling to keep the accusation out of his voice. He feels tricked, somehow.

Kylo turns then, frowning at Hux who lingers in the lift. Hux presses his hand against the doorframe to keep the doors from closing automatically.

"It was my grandmother's apartment. My—. No one wanted it. They thought the plants weren't worth the trouble."

"The plants?"

"This was her greenhouse," Kylo says. He walks into the dark apartment and leaves his door open for Hux.

Hux slaps his hand out when the lift doors try to close again.

"Shit."

The lift's alarm wails.

 

 

 

Kylo hasn't turned on the lights, but there's no need. The roof and far wall are a lattice of glass panes that extend beyond the greenhouse section, enclosed by glass doors. There are several planters and pots scattered, seeming at random, around the living area, but not much else: a hammock is strung between two support poles; a chair faces the far wall that offers a view of the city.

"I'll make up the bed," Kylo says from the kitchen area, linens in his arms. "I never sleep in there."

"I can see why," Hux says. He's whispering without meaning to. The sky is clear, and they're far enough from the city center to see the full moon and a small scatter of stars.

Kylo pauses. "Would you rather take the hammock?"

Hux feels foolish for his earlier reaction, for hating Kylo at the first sign that he might not be like Hux. Kylo likes the sky, too.

He stalls, looking around the room once more. By the chair, there's a plate and a glass with a single sip of orange juice left at the bottom.

"I've put you out enough," Hux says, instead of asking for what he wants.

"I could sleep on the floor, by y— by the hammock. No, that's stupid. I can take the bedroom for one night."

Kylo remains in the kitchen, unsure and keeping his distances. Like they're back in the bar's washroom.

"Can it hold two?" Hux asks, indicating the hammock.

"Mhm." Kylo gets a bit wide eyed at this.

"Bring the blankets, then."

Hux crouches by the hammock and folds his coat, sets it by a large wooden pot. He's breathing through his mouth and when his arm brushes against the thickly intertwined leaves, it's like the ghostly taste of rich tomato sauce reaches him. His stomach rumbles.

Kylo had been hovering behind him and he moves away again. "I'll get something to eat."

He comes back with a pair of scissors and cuts a handful of green leaves, plucks miniature tomatoes from the planter.

Hux forgot to eat again. He had an energy bar for breakfast—around 11:00, granted—but since, only a cup of apple juice at the hospital. He saved his candy cane for Kylo.

Kylo makes sandwiches with a thick layer creamy spread, tomatoes and the green leaves. Basil, according to Kylo.

"They're companion plants," Kylo says, tapping his boot lightly against the planter. He dragged the lone chair closer so he can face Hux who sits on the edge of the hammock.

Hux swings back and forth on the balls of his feet, like a child on a swing. He relaxes as the food settles in him and the last of his dizziness evaporates. He takes a long drag of what seems to be home made orange juice: tangy and full of pulp.

"They smell like tomato sauce," Hux says.

"Yes." Kylo smiles up at him. He sounds pleased by the comment, impressed maybe.

After that, Hux focuses on Kylo, impatient for him to finish his plate. He has two large bites left, when Hux sets his empty glass aside and climbs onto the hammock. He holds up the blanket in invitation.

"Yeah, I'll…" Kylo says, his breath stutters out. He looks behind him at the kitchen, but instead rubs his hands together, brushing off the crumbs, and licks tomato seeds off the skin between thumb and forefinger.

"Get in."

It takes them a few attempts before they settle. The hammock's curve pressing them closer than Hux expected.

At first, Kylo is rigid, arms tucked against his chest. Hux wiggles a bit higher to avoid bumping his injured nose against Kylo in the night. He tucks Kylo's head under his chin.

"Is this okay?"

"Mhm."

Progressively, with light touches and quiet questions, they wrap themselves around one another. The hammock is just a flimsy excuse to get what they want, but they need the safety of the pretext. For now.

Kylo nuzzles at the skin stretched thin over Hux's neck and breathes deep.

Under the blanket, Hux finds Kylo's hand, and holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> Re: "injury" and "mild blood" warnings. Kylo breaks Hux's nose. It's an accident, but if this is an issue for you — especially in the context of a budding relationship — please proceed with caution or consider hitting the back button. <3 Otherwise, the injury and blood are not described in much details.
> 
> Also, in Hux's narration, there are mentions of him neglecting his own well-being and needs. This includes skipping meals. He eats when given food, but he's not taking good care of himself right now.


End file.
